


Want your Whiskey Mouth

by DoreyG



Category: Batman Beyond
Genre: By the very narrowest margin of pre-slash, Community: comment_fic, Crushes, Flirting, M/M, Praise Kink, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-05 23:06:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4198476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're good at this."</p>
<p>"Am I?" He asks, surprised. He likes Bruce, perhaps a little <i>too</i> much, but he's not blind to the facts - the man's the Scrooge of praise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Want your Whiskey Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> Shhhh "Epilogue" isn't canon, let me have this.

"You're good at this."

"Am I?" He asks, surprised. He likes Bruce, perhaps a little _too_ much, but he's not blind to the facts - the man's the Scrooge of praise.

"Yes," even Bruce himself, every grumpily muscular inch of him, seems slightly surprised by the admission. Covers it with a cough, the usual scowl, "I mean, you're not entirely awful. Your detective skills could use some work, and your problem solving is appalling-"

"Yeah, yeah," he huffs, before really thinking, "whatever, I'm awful. Could we get back to the whole being nice to me part, please?"

There's a long pause.

Bruce stares at him, with dark eyes that have _always_ seen far too much, and lifts his shoulders in a slow shrug. Suddenly he's pointedly, _achingly_ aware of the sudden heat pooling under his skin, "you're smart."

"Yeah," he says, in a slightly shaky attempt at bravado, "tell me something I don't know."

"And strong, and agile, and a quick learner when those things aren't enough," Bruce continues very deliberately, so deliberately that he can't even tell if the man's aware of the sweet shudders moving down his spine, "you're good with people, far better than I ever was. You know the difference between right and wrong."

"Yeah..."

"And are brave enough to take a stand for them," Bruce interrupts, still watching him. And he _can't_ be aware of the suddenly light feeling in all his limbs, but... "You don't give up, no matter how hard it is. You see the right thing to do, and you do it come hell or high water."

He remains silent.

"Sometimes," but. Because Bruce can't be, at his age, good enough to pick up on the carefully hidden weight between his legs - but somehow, _somehow_ , he seems aware of every bit of weight behind his words, "I think you could be a miracle, Mr McGinnis. And then I remember that I don't believe in miracles, but what else could explain _you_?"

There's a long pause.

"Uh," he says, far too aware of how his voice hitches and shakes, "you... You can stop being nice now."

Bruce smiles, a little quirk of satisfaction. Still far too knowing, god _damn_ him, "am I worrying you?"

"Sure, let's go with that," he blurts, then shrugs. Finds his feet - his blessed feet - moving before he can embarrass himself any further, taking him away from temptation and the desperate desire to give into it, "I'll see you tomorrow, alright? Try not to die of a heart attack before then!"

"Goodbye, Terry," is the only thing that Bruce offers, wry and fond.

He glances back only once, before he leaves. When he does, Bruce is still smiling.


End file.
